Baby has gone to the land of dreams; 

Hush, or you'll wake him! How still it seems!

Carefully shut the bedroom door, 

Carefully step on the creaking floor. 

See how sweet he looks, as he lies 

With fringed lids closing his dark brown eyes, 

One pink palm pressing the rounded cheek, 

And the red lips parted, as if to speak.

There lie his shoes on the kitchen floor, 

That all day long they have pattered o'er, 

Chubby and battered, and short and wide, 

With knotted lacings but half untied, 

Bearing the print of each tiny toe 

Dear little shoes! I love them so, 

For the sake of the baby boy, you know, 

Who was wearing them but an hour ago.

Yonder, in the low rocking-chair, 

Is a broken plaything he left it there. 

And there in the corner beside the door, 

Lies a motley heap of many more, 

Tack-knife, picture-book, whistle, ball, 

Tailless monkey, and headless doll, 

And new bright pennies, his special joy, 

By father hoarded to please the boy.

There on the wall hangs the dress he wore,

Scarlet flannel, and nothing more;

But the wearer gives it a nameless charm,

For the sleeves are creased by his dimpled arm;

And even the short and wrinkled skirt,

Stained with jelly and streaked with dirt,

I can look at now without annoy,

For it speaks to me of my sleeping boy.

Dear little feet that are now so still, 

Will ye ever walk in the paths of ill! 

Rosebud lips, will ye ever part, 

Bringing grief to a mother's heart? 

Keep, O Father, that baby brow 

Ever as pure from stain as now; 

Lead him through life by thy guiding hand, 

Safely up to the better land.